


Clearing the Air

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Two weeks later, Aziraphale gets a note under his door.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 115





	Clearing the Air

It had been two weeks since the world appeared to be at it’s end- and then, wasn’t. Two weeks after they had shared a terrified bus ride, hands clasped on the seat between them. Scared that this was the end of all things, that it was the end of them and all that they had shared. Scared, perhaps even more so, that it may be the very beginning of all things for the two of them. Uncertain, to put it mildly, that tomorrow may put an end to this tiny sprout of a thing. Or, might create a world where they had to live with the consequences of the thing. Six thousand years they had run: from their sides yes, but ultimately from this thing between them.

And then... the world didn’t end.

They had chosen this world as the place they would stand their ground and they had chosen one another- their side, their world. They had worn each other’s skin to protect what they had- both, in the quiet tension before detainment, having thoughts that only a short time ago they’d held this hand. That they knew the shape of it, the warmth, the rough spots, and the softness. Feeling that connection to the other side.

There wasn’t time to discuss it and, really, that wasn’t something they did. Drunken nights discussing flailing Kraken or dolphins [the fate thereof] or trying to figure out if ducks had ears in the park as the sun crested the trees. Afternoons with the angel’s nose in a book and the demon gleefully stirring up trouble on his mobile.

There had been numerous times in the years spent on this world that they had gone long bouts without contact. Early on, their meetings were purely accidental. Or, at the very least, not planned on their own parts. Thwarting and miracles and stirring up trouble- it was just the job. They didn’t get a choice on where they were sent or when. And, even afterwards, when they found they enjoyed the company they moved like chess pieces: trying to keep the air of random chance when really it was anything but. In those times, they could go months or years without a sighting of one another.

There had always been plenty of time. Being immortal meant time slipped along like a quiet stream. You could take a dip and enjoy the moment, but the steady movement was really irrelevant in the long run. The sun shining down, the same way. It was still the same stream or light, all things considered. Things changed, but they also stayed very much the same.

But, being reminded that that immortality was actually only at the will of some higher power or in the hands of a capricious ruling body in Her stead? It made every handful of water, every face full of warm sunshine, feel more precious than before. One could focus on a moment of skin on skin and fixate. Moments could become worlds all their own.

That didn't mean it was easy to acknowledge them. Far from it, in fact. Because what if a moment meant more to you than it did to someone else? A moment of connection shared in a dark, stressful time might be only that: a brief need for comfort, taken when it was needed and never sought after again. Or, it could be more. Something longed and hoped for- an impossibility made real, somehow. Something forbidden and rebuked, but impossible to shake. A slow-burning ember, just waiting to be coaxed into a roaring flame.

It had been two weeks and neither of them knew which it was to the other, only what it meant in their own heart.

Aziraphale was, he thought, a patient enough being. He was usually content to be alone with his books: a millennia of human stories. The stream of time could ebb and flow outside his cocoon of a bookshop and there was very little to mark it. The thwarted apocalypse had marked it, surely, even if only because his safe place had been threatened, destroyed even, though, thankfully, he had missed the sight of it. Even that he would eventually compartmentalize, given enough time and distance from the event.

But, that bus ride. That moment of connection. That hope that blew hard on the ember that had, for so long, clung to life despite his efforts to ignore it. In another millennia, he would not forget it, regardless of whether it meant as much to both of them or not. Only, one option would hurt more. Who else did he have save Crowley? Who else would he ever find? There were no other matches- only two beings on their side. A fact recently acknowledged, but that was how it had always been. He had been truly deluded to ever think otherwise. The companionship in heaven had never warmed him the way that just sitting, side-by-side, on a park bench with Crowley had.

The slip of paper he found wedged under his shop door came as a welcome surprise. It was clearly the demon's scrawl. Even his penmanship, or the lack thereof, was enough to make the angel's heart flutter. Crowley hadn't disappeared; he wasn't done with him. Their friendship had meant more than a means to an end. Yes, it said all of that to Aziraphale, but in context. Context had been most of their communication over the years. All of it, really. Rarely had they ever spoken of the things that truly mattered in plain terms.

“The park, 11am, Tuesday. -C” was all it actually said. What Crowley would hate to know was what Aziraphale easily detected: this was the last of several attempts to write a note. The impressions of all the previous words left hills and valleys all over the paper. He couldn't read them, of course, but he knew what they meant. They meant that Crowley had been nervous about contacting him. This wasn't an assignment. It wasn't to discuss world-ending business. It couldn't, at all, be written off as work-related. Crowley wanted to see him just... because. At the very least, he missed Aziraphale. At the most... Well. Aziraphale tried not to dwell too hard on the possibilities.

Crowley had missed their time together. If that's all it was- that he got to see the demon.... That they stuck to discussing squid communication strategies over actually talking about what they were- that was okay, right? They had fought for and won the time again. They could ignore the stream and sit in the shade together. The world could go on around them and things could stay the same as they had always been. But, it was hard to shake, this feeling of mortality that shivered down his spine. He had been ended. His life that should have marched on into eternity had been over. Yes, he had returned, obviously. But, the movement of time, the way it ticked by relentlessly, that was difficult to leave behind.

The days until they were to meet seemed to stretch and ache with the wait of it. Why did Crowley need so much notice, he groused to himself. What pressing things did he have to do that meant putting Aziraphale off? But, really, he just missed the demon. A few more days shouldn't be any worse than the prior two weeks. Oh, but time was cupped in his hands now. He held it and then it slipped away. He held the next and watched it go.

Before he knew it, despite counting the moments, it was Tuesday. Absurdly, he found himself in front of his bedroom mirror, every bowtie he owned strewn across the rarely-used bed behind him. It was nearly 10:30 now, but none of them seemed right. He wasn't sure why he was worried about which bowtie to wear to see Crowley. Crowley didn't seem to actually like any of them. Still, it would, perhaps, give the demon something to comment on. Something to break the two and a half weeks of confusing silence. But, none of them seemed to be the right one and he had no time to get another. He could miracle one, of course. But that wouldn't be the same. Too much detectable effort for something that should be trivial. Crowley would know. It could spook him.

Aziraphale gave it up as a loss, going without. It felt a little scandalous: having his shirt undone at the top and exposing a little bit more of his throat. There was precedent for that, though. There had been ages before bowties existed. Terrible times. Okay times. Now was better, surely. Not just because of bowties, but they certainly helped. None of this forethought stopped him when he reached the gate of the park and paused to straighten the absent bowtie. His hands fluttered at his neck for a moment before he clasped them, resolutely, behind his back.

It wasn't nearly as hard to find Crowley as he'd thought, considering the lack of direction in the note. A demonic miracle floated on the breeze, he could smell it. Somehow, the light smell of char settled him. It was familiar, as was the prickling that went down his spine and ruffled his tucked-away feathers. That's what it felt like to be around Crowley and it was a greater relief than even he thought it would be.

He followed the sensations down a winding side-path that he was certain had not existed the last time he had been to the park. It was dotted along the sides with salvias in full bloom- red and blues mixed together. He was vaguely familiar with the flower from one of Crowley's many long one-sided, often drunken, discussions on plants. It occurred to him that they might be meaningful, but if Crowley had mentioned a meaning for them, he couldn't remember it.

The path abruptly ended and opened into a perfectly circular clearing. And there, in the center, sat Crowley. Under him was a blue and red checkered blanket strewn with the contents of a picnic basket which sat by his right hip. There was no way all the treats had fit inside that basket without a miracle- the finger sandwiches and pastries, coffee and mugs, wine in a bucket of ice with it's own glasses that perched upright on the blanket against their will.

The most arresting bit of all, though, was Crowley himself. His wings were out and spread in great arcs over the picnic. The feathers caught the sunlight as it streamed down on him, bouncing it off his black feathers in shimmers of blues and greens and even gold. And, speaking of gold, Aziraphale paused at the head of the trail when he noticed that Crowley's glasses were nowhere to be seen. When Aziraphale dared to meet the demon's golden eyes, Crowley swallowed hard, but held his gaze. The very trees in the clearing seemed to bend their leaves around he demon with a very peculiar, but not entirely uncomfortable, tension.

Here he had thought a miracled bowtie would be too much of a give-away and Crowley had miracled a secluded alcove in the park, a picnic of everything portable that he enjoyed, and he was barring himself in near public as he had never dared to do since the beginning.

Aziraphale approached slowly, hands now fidgeting in front of him, unable to tear his eyes from Crowley's. His heart hammered all the harder the closer he got, no matter how sternly he told it that the pounding was unnecessary. Finally, after just a few moments that felt like something more, he was at the edge of the blanket. He knelt across from Crowley and took in his friend, smiling genuinely if a bit nervously. This all definitely looked like... something. But, there was always, always room for misinterpretation. 

“No bowtie?” Crowley was smirking and it did wonders to settle the angel's flip-flopping stomach. This was Crowley. He was safe, no matter what the context.

“No glasses?” Banter. Banter they could do.

“I thought,” and Crowley broke the eye contact they had thus far maintained, but then seemed to shake himself and resume it with purpose, “I thought we could meet here, with- without pretense.”

“No pretense?” Aziraphale settled down further onto the blanket and if his knee was nearly brushing Crowley's, well, that was okay now, right?

“Open, honest, without walls,” a ripple went through Crowley's wings and it seemed he might put them away, “I thought we could be... us. Just us.”

“Just us?” Aziraphale shook out his own wings and watched with no small amount of pleasure as Crowley's eyes traveled over them, his face going slack before smiling a beautifully genuine smile. When was the last time he'd seen the demon smile? Not a smirk, not a grimace, but a smile? It made Aziraphale want to dare the world- to leave his wings out for the rest of eternity- just to ensure that he could go on pleasing the demon, “I think that sounds lovely, my dear.”

“Ngk,” at the use of the endearment, Crowley's eyes snapped away and then, resolutely back to his, “it's not like we have excuses now, anyway.”

“Excuses, what for?”

“Don't be a complete bastard, Angel.”

Aziraphale smirked at him and cocked his head in question. His confidence was rising by the moment that his was exactly what he thought it was. Still, he wanted it confirmed.

“I missed you, okay?” Crowley bumped his knee with his own and then... left it there, the two of them pressed together. Aziraphale pressed back and watched, in wonder, as Crowley relaxed. His wings stopped shifting. He seemed to somehow melt back down into himself.

“You could have just dropped by the shop,” Aziraphale trailed off as he watched the demons eyes dart away again, “or called?”

“I'm not sure I can... I wondered if...,” Crowley cursed and took a deep breath, “Openness: I may need time getting over seeing our home in flames, Aziraphale. Knowing... knowing that you were gone. That I was alone. And, I don't- I don't just mean against the end of the world, you know? I mean, if I won? What would I really gain if you were still gone?”

“You would have gone on, darling, yes?” Aziraphale only noticed after he had done it that his hand was now resting on the demon's other knee. He left it there.

“... yeah, but it wouldn't have been the same...”

“Why not?”

Crowley gave him an incredulous look even as Aziraphale squeezed his knee in encouragement. Aziraphale was leaning closer to him now, even as Crowley sat still, starring grumpily at him.

“Obviously, you have gone to a lot of trouble here for me, Crowley. No walls, no pretenses. Whatever it is you're trying to tell me you know you can just say it, right?”

There was a long pause where Aziraphale watched the demon struggle with himself, his eyes darting down and then up, as if looking for help somewhere, anywhere. He swallowed and then shuddered, his mouth opening and then shutting again. Finally, the angel took some pity on him. He offered his hand to Crowley and the demon took it. Then he pulled it towards him slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the palm.

“It's just us, Crowley, no walls. You invited me here because you want me here and I am glad for it. I came at your summons as I always will, darling, because I wish to be with you. There's nothing you could tell me or ask me that would send me away save the direct instruction to do so. Even then, I would try to dissuade you of the notion before taking my leave.”

“I've half a mind,” Crowley chuckled damply, “to test that, Aziraphale. All the times you've sent me away. No, let me finish. I know why you did it. Really, I understand. I pushed you too hard because I was scared. I wanted you on my side- our side- I thought I was running out of time.”

“You were,” Aziraphale squeezed the hand he now held captive in his lap, “you- we- were running out of time.”

“It worked out though.”

“Yes.”

“And we're on our side now.”

“Yes, dear.”

“That's what matters,” Crowley nodded resolutely, “All of this... I wanted to celebrate that.”

Aziraphale took in the spread of food and drink again before responding.

“That's all?”

“You're going to make me say it, aren't you?”

Aziraphale stared up at him through his eyelashes, but the look was ruined when he laughed.

“I love you, you bastard.” Crowley tried to tug his hand back, but Aziraphale held it steadily in his lap, smirking as the demon struggled. Then, without warning, he stopped fighting and allowed himself to be pulled forward with all of Crowley's force. Crowley tumbled backwards, his wings stretching out to either side of him as he fell- there was no way they could catch him. Still clutching his hand, Aziraphale landed, sprawled on top of him.

“What?” Crowley blinked up at him in shock, both his hands- one just freed- hanging in the air on either side of the angel smirking down at him.

“Oh, my silly serpent,” Aziraphale pressed his forehead to Crowley's and met his eyes without mercy, “I love you, too.”

What happened from one moment to the next was unclear. He had missed a burble in the stream of time and lost it. All he knew was that Crowley's lips were on his and his hands were in his hair. When the stream resumed, he kissed him back with fervor. He worked his hands under the demon's shoulders and pulled him over as they rolled, knocking over the ice bucket and the glasses- though neither cared. He reached behind the demon, over his shoulder blades, and into the delicate feathers that connected them to his wings. Crowley whimpered and arched into him, finally breaking the kiss.

“Why, Angel, is that a hardback novel in your pocket or are you just really happy to see me?”

“Crowley... I am always more than happy to see you.” And then to ensure no more interruptions, he kissed him again.

A breeze rustled through the clearing, combing through feathers entangled: ebony and ivory. It traveled upwards and away from them, carrying a relieved sigh through the leaves of the trees.


End file.
